As the insane animal of rage released him, Owen dropped the unconscious man in favor of comforting the woman he loved. In a flash, he scooped Adelia off the floor as if she were no heavier than a feather and sat down on the sagging bed with her in his arms.
With her resting against his chest, he used his free hand to pull the cursed rope loose from her neck and hurl it to the floor. At the same time, Whitely rushed in with Detective Sergeant Garrard, stopping abruptly at the sight. In a flurry of commands, two constables lifted the unconscious Beaumont off the floor and, with each supporting him under one of his arms, took him from the room, his head hanging low and his feet dragging behind him.
Adelia gazed at Owen, her eyes full of life, and the tightness in his chest eased.
“You’re bleeding.” He tried to reach into his pocket for a handkerchief, but she was resting atop his coat.
She held up her hand and opened it. There, crumpled on her palm, was one of his own kerchiefs. His gaze flew to hers, now brimming with tears. His own eyes filled as a hundred thoughts and memories crashed through him.
Too late for Sophia, he’d saved Adelia from the same fate. He hoped his sister was looking down upon him and giving them her blessing. Taking the square of linen, he dabbed at the corner of Adelia’s mouth.
“It’s just a cut,” she said softly, but her other hand went to her throat. “My neck aches, though.”
The coarse rope had caused a red abrasion on her pale skin, and he brushed it with the back of his knuckle, recalling doing the same with his sister’s lifeless body.
“And my throat hurts, too, a little,” Adelia added.
“That may have been from screaming,” he said, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks. “Your wonderfully loud yell. Your voice saved you, you know.”
“You saved me,” she whispered, reaching up and touching one of his tears.
Owen could hardly see her through his watering eyes. He went to wipe them with the back of his hand, saw Beaumont’s blood, and stripped off his glove, which he sent hurling after the rope. Rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand, he discovered he was trembling like he had the palsy. He’d come so close to losing her—it would have sent him over the edge into insanity.
He couldn’t help himself from leaning down and kissing her.
“Ouch,” she muttered, but she snaked her hands around his neck and held him close.
He tasted her blood and her tears—and probably his own tears, too. As he raised his head, her eyelids fluttered open, and he fell headlong into the emerald depths where he wanted to stay for the rest of his life.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
He heard Whitely, entirely forgotten, cough loudly, as if to warn him from anything rash. He ignored him.
Owen watched her eyes widen, soften, and fill with tears again.
“Yes.” And that was all she said.
Neither of them gushed with a flowery speech. They didn’t need to.
Then he heard a throat being cleared behind him. This time, it was Detective Sergeant Garrard still standing by the shattered door.
“Yes, Detective? I assume you are trying to get my attention,” Owen said, winking at Adelia.
“Lord Burnley, will you take the young lady home or to the hospital?”
“Definitely home,” Owen said. “My physician will come there.” He felt Adelia restlessly moving in his arms and helped her to sit up.
“I should go home,” she started to protest.
He set her on her feet and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I cannot let you go, not tonight.”
After a long pause, she nodded.
“I will need to ask you some questions, my lady,” Garrard said.
“Tomorrow,” Owen insisted. “I shall bring her to your office. Can you walk?” he asked her.
“Yes, of course,” she insisted, raising her chin. His heart swelled with admiration for her bravery.
